


one last oath

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Extra Treat, M/M, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), cleaning wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: It concerns us all to secure to ourselves something from which death will not cut us off.(Or, Thor is wounded in battle. Rocket isn't happy, but he helps all the same.)
Relationships: Rocket Raccoon/Thor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	one last oath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



Thor blinks at the tiny hands patting soap suds down his chest. His remaining eye is blurry, and the fake is too sharp. A dull ache taps at his temples. His skin seems to ripple along with the water he’s seated in.

Rocket perches on the rim of the tub. He’s leaning in, looking intently, and Thor has the feeling he’s expected to respond. Perhaps he’s been asked a question, or… Thor doesn’t know. He should, but he’s too tired, and the pain in his temples is too severe. “What?” he asks. Thor sounds like he hasn’t touched water in years.

Rocket’s eyes narrow at the question, and his scrubbing on Thor’s chest stops. “You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said, have you?” Rocket accuses.

Thor doesn’t respond; he isn’t sure he can. A response would require analyzing the amount of time he’s been in this tub, and...wherever ‘here’ is in a larger sense. Thor has lost time, and he would need to try to recall what he last remembers.

Thor does not want to remember. He doesn’t want to think. He feels off balance, and the soreness in his temples is progressing to a heart-like pulse.

Rocket frowns. “You’re not with me at all, huh?”

“I don’t-” Thor starts, and stops as quickly. Talking hurts, and making his brain wrap around words and their meaning hurts even more.

Rocket sighs. He looks angry. Whatever happened, whatever is going on, Thor knows he did not mean for Rocket to be angry. Thor has so few companions left. So few brave warriors he trusts.

“There was a battle,” Thor forces out. He remembers it, somewhat. A stronghold of Thanos’ sympathizers. There were more ‘hostiles’ than anticipated, a term used often by Natasha and Rogers. Thor and Rocket did not have their full ranks behind them, but their opponents were mortal. And Thor is King of Asgard (though Asgard is gone), son of Odin (though Odin is dead). He who slayed Thanos (but did so too late).

Rocket’s ears sink in the silence that follows. Displeased again, like he so often is in Thor’s company nowadays. Like everyone who remains.

Thor clamps dripping hands on the tub walls and pushes himself to his feet. The room lurches, and bile swells up Thor’s throat. His foot slips. There is pain at his back, and it cascades into pain everywhere. In his legs. His chest. His shoulders. His neck.

The pounding between Thor’s temples amplifies. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes so he will not have to see the room sway back and forth.

Thor swallows against the sick feeling. He does not know what’s happening - why he is so dizzy, how long he’s been here, where ‘here’ is. But the last thing he will do is burden his noble friend further.

“Look.” Rocket sounds tired. “Just sit, alright? I’ve got it.”

“Sorry,” Thor mumbles. He does not understand much, but he does recognize his own weakness. Asgard’s most mighty incapable of bathing without help. It’s no wonder Rocket is cross with him.

Rocket glares, proving Thor right. But he must take pity on Thor’s pathetic state because he does not berate him further. Taking up the washcloth again, Rocket returns to soaping Thor’s chest.

The honorable captain has gentle hands capable of slaying much larger foes. Thor lowers his head to watch. Rocket is small but efficient. With quick flicks of his wrist, Thor’s skin froths with fresh suds. Thor frowns at the smeared blues and purples mingling across his skin. Bruises. He squints at the water. His own naked body is visible through a tint of red. Blood too, then.

Thor swallows back the shame creeping up his neck. Were he of sound body and mind, Thor's own ineptitude would infuriate him. He would take his failure out on whatever foe dared to present itself. If none did, Thor would rain his fury on an abandoned surface. The skies would blaze with his anger and despair.

But Thor lacks the strength to do much else than watch Rocket’s steady hands at work. “Sorry,” Thor says again. “You shouldn’t have to-”

“Say ‘sorry’ one more goddamn time and I’m taking your other eye,” Rocket snarls. He twists to glare at Thor. “Sit,” Rocket tacks on. “And shut up.”

Rocket moves to where Thor can’t see him. A second later, Thor feels the cloth scrubbing between his shoulders. Slight as Rocket’s hands are, the touch feels good. Thor hunches towards the water, permitting Rocket more of his spine. Rocket’s motions are faster than they were at his chest, forceful enough for Thor to feel the anger in them. But on Thor’s sore body, the added pressure feels good. He allows his eyes to close, true and false, and tries to focus on Rocket’s fingers.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Thor admits.

Rocket’s movements stop, and though Thor can’t see him he senses added tension in the room. Sudden fear makes Thor’s stomach fall. “Are the others alright?” he asks.

Silence follows, and Thor’s stomach cramps. They can’t - _he_ can’t lose anyone else. Shaking, he turns around, gripping the tub’s rim for balance. He finds Rocket squeezing the washcloth so hard that soap and water are dribbling out of it.

Horror turns Thor’s voice to a croak. “Rabbit-”

“ _What_ others?” Rocket hisses. “There were no others, because your dumb ass didn’t wait for our back-up like we _promised_ we would if shit went bad. You _swore_ you wouldn’t do this again, Thunder. You swore on your dead brother to my face. I can’t fucking do this anymore, man. I can’t.”

Thor frowns. They did something to his power, he remembers. There were chains. And his head, they…

Thor raises a tentative hand to his forehead. The pain is abrupt and shock-like. He tears his fingers away, the tips red and wet.

“You idiot,” Rocket growls. He smacks Thor’s blood-stained hand down. “Stay still.”

Rocket’s touch is the opposite of his gruff words. He pads the washcloth across Thor’s cut brow with the gentleness of a newborn. The soap stings, and Thor winces but he does not move and Rocket doesn’t stop. His touch is tender, and Thor’s heart lurches. He bows towards Rocket’s hands.

Thor is rewarded with a scrub of Rocket’s fingers through his hair. “Don’t fall asleep,” he grumbles. “We’re almost done.”

“What about you?” Thor asks.

This earns a pause, the washcloth still against Thor’s face. “I’ll do me when you’re done,” Rocket says.

“Yes, but I can-”

“You’ve done enough,” Rocket interrupts. He sounds tired again.

Only Rocket’s previous anger stops Thor from apologizing for a third time. As Rocket cleans the wound, Thor tries to force his foggy brain back to the events of the day. To chains. Warded chains etched in symbols of an archaic language Thor had never seen. Loki would have, no doubt. Loki would have known the danger they were in before it was too late. But Loki is dead, so...right.

It should have been a simple mission. There was no reason to wait for backup. No matter their opposition’s numbers, Thor is Thor. But Thor didn’t know. The chains were on him, then the blasters, and he fell. He was in the dirt, gasping for air, bleeding and aching from head to toe. The kill shot was raised, then blocked. Cut between by a body small in height bearing blasters twice his own size. After this, Thor’s memory becomes a current of disassociated sounds and colors. Then darkness, so much darkness.

“Turn around,” Rocket mumbles. “I’ve gotta get your hair.”

"I can do it," Thor tells him. "You don't have to-"

"Shut up, Thunder," Rocket sighs.

Guilt clenches Thor’s chest. He should be stronger than this. His friends are mortals. It is Thor’s job to protect them now. To save them, despite the trillions he was not able to save by not going for the head.

Thor forces his emotion out in a heavy exhale. The faster he complies, the faster Rocket can resume more vital responsibilities. Away from him.

He settles the back of his head against the tub rim. Though Thor’s head still throbs, the warmth of the bath rejuvenates his aching limbs. Thor closes his eyes and breathes the steam in. Embraced to the shoulders in water, it’s easy for Thor to allow his mind to drift. Rocket’s slight fingers in his hair make it even simpler.

Rocket has a pleasant touch. He pours warm water with care over Thor’s head. Rocket is precise enough to keep the flow from spilling into Thor’s eyes or down the rest of his face. Thor hears the thick sudsing of soap between Rocket’s fingers moments before they sink into his hair. Rocket massages with deep, combing motions. Thor’s soaped hair sticks to his forehead. It soothes in a way Thor cannot help but think he doesn’t deserve after the events of this day.

But Thor aches so much, he can’t make himself pull away. His mouth pops open. He feels warm all over, as if a kiss will greet lips parted in invitation, or at least the teasing nudge of a snout. It won’t happen, but fuzzy as Thor’s mind still is, he revels in the idea.

Thor relaxes into the water blanketing his shoulders. Drowsiness tugs at him. It would be so easy to give in to it. Forget this cursed day and his own failures. Feel nothing but the slide of Rocket’s deft fingers through his hair.

“Hey.” A soaped hand taps Thor’s cheek. “Told you not to conk out on me.”

“I’m so tired,” Thor mumbles. He’s aware that he sounds petulant. Thor _is_ tired though, in body as well as spirit. He’s tired of living on when so many he cares for are dead. He’s tired of proving himself an even greater disgrace with every passing day.

Behind him, Rocket shuffles. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” Another wave of water spills down Thor’s scalp and takes with it the suds spread through his hair. Wet fingers brush the few bubbles away that linger on Thor’s cheek.

“Well, that’s it,” Rocket says. “Towel and spare clothes are in the corner. Think you can dress yourself at least?”

The slight in the question is obvious. Thor winces, his short-lived comfort forgotten. “Yes, of course,” he says. “You didn’t have to do all this to begin with, but thank you.” He risks a look back and musters what he hopes is a smile. “It means a great deal to me, Rabbit.”

Rocket glares back at him, arms crossed over his chest. With no response forthcoming, Thor’s smile drops. “Right,” he mumbles, shame boiling in his gut. “I’ll…”

When Thor’s words fail him, he forces himself to stand. The room tilts again, fuzzed at the corners, but the sickness does not follow this time. Thor's head is pounding, most intense at the patch of broken skin on his brow. He claws for the edge of the tub, water dribbling off his back and down the lines of his body. It splatters around Thor’s bare feet as he climbs out of the tub. Thor grits his teeth against the loss of warmth. He’s shivering, he realizes, as useless as a young child out in the snow for too long.

Thor lurches for the towel hanging against the wall. Luck is finally with him, because the fabric does not evade his grasp. Thor scrubs his wet hair and wipes the water from his face.

Rocket isn't looking at him. He’s tapping a foot and flashing an unhappy fang.

Right. Thor is naked. A wet, unclothed mess.

Thor makes quick work on his chest and winds the towel around his waist. Water continues to drip from his hair down his chest and his back. He’s shivering harder now. His head hurts, as does everything else. It’s as if an essential piece has been carved out of Thor and stuck back in haphazardly.

If his power was warded for a time, this must be the result. A slow reawakening. His body and mind lethargic.

Thor scoops his clothes against his chest. He does not have the strength to put them on, he isn’t sure he has the strength to get himself back to his chamber either. But of the two options, the one that will be most respectful to Rocket is the latter. “I will dress in my room,” he announces in what he hopes is a confident tone. “Thank you again. Goodnight, sweet Rabbit.”

Rocket spins to look at him. His eyes have narrowed, and he flashes his teeth in a snarl. Thor’s heart sinks, and with it the room spins again. He’s done something else. So many incorrect turns, it’s a wonder Rocket will even allow himself to stand in the same room as Thor. Especially in this manner of undress.

“You don’t fucking care, that’s what gets me,” Rocket mumbles.

Thor shakes his head, yet another wrong turn. The room slips sideways, and Thor latches a hand against the wall. His once folded night clothes fall to the floor, a wrinkled pile soiled in the puddle of bath water at Thor’s feet.

“I care,” Thor forces out. “I’ve upset you. I should have done more, I should have-”

“You don’t fucking care that you _almost died_ ,” Rocket interrupts. “ _Again!_ You almost died _again._ What the fuck am I gonna do when you finally get your way and off yourself, huh? What am I gonna do?”

Thor is left gaping. He stares down at Rocket, or tries to. The angle is so severe, and the room careens in a different direction.

When Thor next opens his eyes, he’s on his knees on the floor. He’s holding himself up with wobbly arms and gasping for breath. Pain stabs behind his eyes, real and false. His towel is soaked from the bathwater on the floor.

Rocket’s steadying hands are on Thor’s shoulders. Thor’s heart lurches in his chest. He closes his eyes and swallows against a new sick feeling in his gut.

“I’ll get someone,” Rocket says quietly. “One of your other pals.”

“No,” Thor croaks. “No, I want you.” He sounds desperate, completely out of his head. Insane enough that Rocket pities him and does not leave. Rocket’s hands fit to the curves separating Thor’s shoulders from his neck. He squeezes, and Thor’s head lolls forehead. Rocket is not large enough for Thor to tuck his face against entirely, but he can rest his forehead on Rocket's shoulder.

Rocket’s breath rushes out, replaced by a new huff. “Damn it, Thunder,” Rocket mumbles. His voice isn’t steady.

None of this is fair to Rocket. A waste of time and energy humoring the many mistakes Thor has made of late. But Thor is selfish enough to like how Rocket feels against him. How he smells so close to Thor. The warmth of anger billowing under his clothes.

Thor takes a deep breath. The room stops spinning, and the ache begins to unwind in Thor’s chest.

“How you doing, big guy?” Rocket asks.

Thor tucks a kiss against Rocket’s shoulder. It’s the most he’ll ever get, and he allows himself the moment before forcing himself to sit upright. No dizziness, thank the Norns. Thor feels cold and sore. “Better,” Thor says, and he manages a more believable smile.

Rocket looks up at Thor strangely, a new wideness to his eyes.

“I can-” Thor begins, a hand braced against the wall. It takes time and effort, but he manages to get himself back to his feet. Shuddering, Thor leans over to scoop his soaked night clothes from the floor. He succeeds, though he’s unsteady as he pulls himself back upright. Given the way the day has gone, Thor will gladly take small victories. “I should sleep,” he says.

Rocket nods. “Good. I’ll make sure you get to your room.”

“Rabbit, I don’t need-”

“You ain’t passing out on my watch,” Rocket mutters. It’s a humiliating thought, but one that Thor deserves given the path of the rest of this day. With no other arguments left in him, Thor nods.

To Thor’s relief, the hallway outside is both dark and quiet. He recognizes the long corridor as the Avengers’ facility in a remote area of a place called New York. Though shame still sours Thor's stomach, he smiles at the realization that they are both safe. This building is the closest place Thor has to a home now. Rocket as well, with his extended family yet unaccounted for.

Thor has to tip his chin to his chest to see Rocket. The noble captain leads the way slowly, never looking back at Thor. It is a kind gesture. Thor is able to brace his hand against the wall without the embarrassment of being seen.

The only blessing of Thor’s headache is that his own mortifying weakness cannot linger in his mind for long. His temples throb in a drowsy rhythm, and Thor wills himself to keep his balance for a few minutes longer. His chamber is not far. One foot in front of the other, his toes naked and cold on the tile. Thor’s teeth grit against the discomfort. Bearing it is the least he can do after the mess he has made of this day, and so many days before it.

His door at last. Thor grips the frame and catches his breath. His head hangs low, a twang of soreness between his shoulders. His eyes close, it feels good to stop.

Even with his eyes shielded, the sudden light makes him cringe. “You've got a few more steps in you, Thunder,” Rocket says. “Let’s go.”

Thor’s first reaction is doubt. Does he have more steps in him? Really?

But then he remembers, and he forces his eyelids to peel back with a grunt. His bed is before him, three or four wide steps at most. Thor staggers into the room. His knees are giving way, his head hurts, his breaths short. But when he falls - thank the Norns - he lands on bed springs instead of his floor. Thor’s damp sleep clothes are not as fortunate, dropped without fanfare to the ground.

He pushes himself up on trembling arms and climbs the distance to his pillows. His head throbs when it falls, pain weighing on his eyes like coins placed over those of a corpse. Even his phantom eye feels it, the fake Rocket gifted him suddenly a weight too heavy to bear.

“Uh.” From the floor. “You want to change into something, or…”

Thor knows he’s naked, his towel forgotten somewhere in the scramble from the foot of his bed to the top. But, sprawled on his stomach, he cannot muster embarrassment let alone the will to rise. “I’m good,” Thor assures Rocket. “Truly. I’m good now.”

In the long pause that follows, Thor assumes Rocket leaves. He drifts, sleepy, over a bed of discomfort. His headache droops to a dull tap above his right eye. Tomorrow, his strength will return, and in his renewed state he will make amends with Rocket. He will train harder with Stormbreaker. He will become stronger and faster. And Thor will perform his last remaining duty - protect those he cares about until his body gives out. They are the only family he has left, the only thing that matters.

“Alright already.” Thor hears Rocket only a moment before something soft and warm is pulled over his shoulders. Thor's blind grope finds the fringed edge of a blanket. Pleasant warmth dulls the soreness cascading down his back.

Thor turns surprised eyes on Rocket. Rocket drops the edge of the blanket and takes a step back. “What?” he grumbles. “You might get sick or something. If you people even do that. Who the hell knows.”

“Thank you,” Thor says. His voice is a splintered, pathetic thing, but he has to get this out. He forces his scattered thoughts to focus and his words to come out with some measure of coherence. “I failed you today, Rabbit. But I’ll make it right.” Thor smiles up at Rocket. “I swear on my life,” he says. “I’ll never fail you again.”

Rocket stares at Thor from the top of the bed, back flat against Thor’s headboard. His eyes widen for a moment, then he snorts and turns away. It hurts, but Thor can’t blame Rocket for his skepticism. Thor will simply have to prove himself. Tomorrow. When Thor’s strength fills his veins again and soothes the brittle ache from his bones.

Thor lets his eyes close. He knots fingers into the folds of the blanket and hikes it tighter around his shoulders. His breath gusts out, hard and long. He hurts, but at least sleep beckons. He won’t have to feel for much longer. For a few hours at least, Thor will be able to forget.

He doesn’t expect the stroke of fingers in his hair. Drowsy as he is, Thor isn’t sure they’re real. It’s a gentle touch, repeated pets that make him groan into his pillow. Real or not, the touches comfort, and Thor allows himself to be lulled. The day’s missteps melt away like ice under a summer sun.

Something shifts on the bed, and there is fur against Thor’s lips. The light swat of a tail against his cheek. The folds of a flight suit rasping against Thor’s beard.

From somewhere above Thor, he hears Rocket’s voice. “Don’t swear on your life ever again.” Rocket sounds quiet but sure. Thor nods towards his words. His lips find fabric, then the chiding bump of a nose. “Go the fuck to sleep already.”

It’s a command Thor is happy to follow. He lets his head sink, drawn to the warmth of fabric and fur. Another tap of a tail, this time across Thor’s neck. Thor takes a deep breath, mouth parting over a wrinkle of cotton. Fur tickles his lips over the end of a zipper.

“Didn’t say on me,” Rocket mumbles, but he doesn’t sound angry. There’s a pause, and then a resigned pat of Thor’s head. “Fine, ok. You won’t remember this anyway.”

Thor isn’t sure, fuzzy as his thoughts are, each one seems to pass through fogged glass. He hopes he remembers the way Rocket’s body curls to fit his head. The easy weight of Rocket’s tail draped across his throat. The feel of Rocket's breaths grazing his face. Everything else about this day can vanish, Thor will gladly forget.

But it would be a rare stroke of fortune in dire times if Thor remembers this moment. Thor resolves himself to the idea. It’s his last coherent thought before sleep finally takes him.


End file.
